Tomorrow May Be Better Than Our Yesterday
by FiresFromOurHearts
Summary: Choices made are choices that cannot be changed, but choices can have different outcomes. Regulus Black died, but what if he didn't?


Sometimes the world breaks itself down around you, becomes a series of sensations, a series of sights each with their own individual memories attached. The world breaking down is not the sky falling down around you, fractured pieces of blue and white patterning the ground, but rather something entirely different. The world breaking down is simply the world becoming a completed puzzle – the whole picture is there, but you can see the lines where the pieces all join and connect with one another. The world breaking down is you being able to understand the world in smaller pieces. It's all very complex yes, but looking at the smaller, singular pieces, that's much easier.

Regulus Arcturus Black has never really been one to focus on the world as a whole; it is what it is, and he has always been focussing on the impact of his actions on his world. It is not _the_ world, but rather a small section of puzzle pieces, all carefully balanced and connected.

Steadfast in his belief and in his own opinions, Regulus has never had to question the path he has strolled down, head tilted arrogantly, chin up for a Pureblood never looks down like he is ashamed. Perhaps it is, in the end, what brings everything down, what encourages Regulus to look around him and notice that the world is more than the singular puzzle piece he desires to see. Or, perhaps, it is something else. It is impossible to know why Regulus makes the decision he does, but he maybe he makes a decision because he turns and looks back, maybe he finally sees a misstep from years ago and decides to make it right.

The thing is, though, that right and wrong are completely subjective. It is easy for someone to say they are in the right, and sometimes it is easy for someone to convince another that they are in the right. It is much harder to convince someone they are wrong when they firmly believe they are in the right. Unwavering convictions can be like a mountain, immovable and fixed in place, but even the mountain changes over time.

Is it really that surprising that Regulus Arcturus Black changes his mind?

Retreating from the Dark Lord – except, it isn't so much a retreat as a betrayal. Two very different things, in Regulus' opinion. One is cowardly, an action that tells of a loss and a need for rest to rethink and make a new plan. The other is an action considered for some length, a plan made and followed. Many would say that betrayal has nothing to do with bravery; that doing the right thing isn't always about courage. Many, Regulus knows, have not betrayed the Dark Lord.

Fear can be many things. It can be the hairs on one's arm standing on their ends or even a shiver crawling up a person's spine. It can be the heart beating quickly in someone's chest or even becoming immobile and unable to move. Fear takes many forms – it can be a Boggart, but it can also be a Dementor. Regulus has lived and breathed fear for a long time. Some of it comes from anxiety, the quick pulse of his heartbeat and a surge of panicking thoughts, but some of it comes from fearing for his own safety.

Joining a person with power who is unafraid to speak his mind, such a thing can be done to protect oneself from fear. Betraying a powerful wizard who is unafraid of cruelty, such a thing is not often done out of fear. Regulus betrays the Dark Lord, but his story does not stop there.

It shouldn't be as easy as it is, but for Regulus who knows more about the Dark Arts than many would assume, it is simple to make a plan. It is not as easy to convince his house-elf to aid him, to take him back to the cave where Kreacher had been left to die. Nonetheless, Regulus enters the cave.

It is dark, predictable, but there is something intangible on Regulus' tongue, a tingle of something other – magic, perhaps, or maybe fear. But fear has been an acquaintance of Regulus for a long time, and there is no hesitation in his actions. With a whispered word, Regulus' wand lights up the cave, banishing the darkness to the very edges where the walls meet the floor. In this way, it seems as if fear itself has been extinguished. Regulus does not lie to himself; fear lays engraved in his very bones.

The next trial Regulus faces is offering his blood. It is one of the easiest tasks of the day. Offering blood may be painful, but there are pains worse to bear. As red glistens in the light of his wand, Regulus has to wonder whether this will all be worth it in the end. Even now, steps into his plan, he is unsure and uncertain. The way ahead is not a clear path to stroll down, but a goat trail leading up a cliff. It is a pity there are no broomsticks in metaphors.

Past the second hidden doorway, over the lake filled with Inferi, and to the small island. Almost alone, but not quite for at Regulus' side is Kreacher, Regulus finds himself gazing down into a basin filled with a green potion. The reflection he receives is distorted and warped, a version of him he has never seen before. Perhaps this is the true version of him – one he never sees because he does his best to deceive himself.

The world can be broken down into a series of puzzle pieces; sections that are easy to understand in simple, plains terms, but become considerably difficult to comprehend as a whole. A puzzle can be time-consuming and difficult to put together, but at least you know there is always one right piece; that the puzzle will fit together in some way to form an image. Life is not like that. Here, there are no puzzles to complete but the ones you make with your hands.

Staring down at a reflection that stares up, Regulus considers what he is doing – what he will do, because this is no attempt. It will end in success because sometimes you cannot afford to believe otherwise. Confidence, no matter what anyone else tells you, can aid you in your endeavours. At the climax of it all, the seconds before he lets go of any rational he has in the current moment, Regulus stares down at the potion created by a mad man for power and thirsty for immortality. This, Regulus knows, is not a rebellion of any kind, not even a resistance. It is not him trying to fix his mistakes nor amend for his actions. He does not really have the words for what it is, and perhaps that in and of itself tells one all they need to know.

A word to Kreacher, and a conscious decision on his behalf, then Regulus drinks the potion. His mind becomes a whirl of thoughts, and the steady beat of his heart changes its tempo, gaining speed and gaining volume. Thoughts previously clear cut and coherent, slip and drag themselves, painting themselves pretty in red blood in the air. Sensations become untruths, the world seems to become a veneer for something Regulus knows not.

A series of puzzle pieces the world may be, but all Regulus sees are his own haunting memories, tormenting him of moments where his inaction cost him, torturing him with memories where his actions had consequences he regretted but never did anything about. No matter what one says, it cannot be refuted that a person's mind is the best torture weapon to implement against them.

Horcrux in pale hand, Regulus barely has the thought in his mind to give it to Kreacher, who takes the tainted object and disappears with a loud crack. Then, and only then, is Regulus at last alone. Alone in more ways than one.

The world offers no freebies, no take-backs. Actions have consequences, and the aftermath will always need to be dealt with. The path you walk is a choice, but choices are not always easy nor always right.

In one world, a dead hand grasps an ankle and a boy is pulled into the depths of a cursed lake. In another, very similar world, a boy regrets and regrets and decides to take action. It is difficult, but not impossible, for Regulus to gather himself and take the boat back across the lake. Dehydrated and desiring water, but remembering the Dark Lord and painful lessons, Regulus does not touch the black water that looks innocent, despite what lies beneath its surface.

Barely capable of thought, Regulus focusses on putting one foot in front of the other, concentrates on moving forward and nothing else. He ends up outside of the cave, but this is where the story of Regulus Arcturus Black stops. Beneath the dark sky, rain lashing downwards and the wind jerking his clothing, it is unsurprising that Regulus drops to the ground, unconscious, after his ordeal. Without friends and without allies and having no one trustworthy around, Regulus Arcturus Black is assumed to have died and no one ever knows otherwise.

Sometimes it is easy to die and much harder to live, other times it is easy to live and harder to die. Sometimes you get caught in between, unwilling to die but unwilling to live, caught between giving up and refusing to give in. Sometimes a boy about to die is found by people who have no reason to be wary and cautious. Sometimes a boy, for all that he believes himself an adult, is still just a boy trying his very best in a world torn asunder by war.

Eventually, Regulus Arcturus Black will be a name forgotten by those of the magical world. In the muggle world, a boy by the name of Regulus wakes up to kindness and blankets. In a world that believes in children being adults after eighteen, in a world where Regulus looks sixteen but is eighteen, a wizard unlearns supremacy taught in childhood. A wizard learns the kindness of muggles who are willing to lend a hand. A wizard learns that hope doesn't abate even when death is the only probable outcome.

Little by little, Regulus learns to live, learns to want to live. He learns to extend a hand to help, learns to offer kindness and sympathy, learns equality and equity, unlearns derogatory and superiority. He learns and unlearns many things, and throughout it all he changes, as humans always do. After all, personalities are not fixed and your sense of identity is ever fluctuating, ever transforming into something new.

In one world, a boy by the name of Regulus dies at eighteen; in another world, a boy by the name of Regulus simply disappears. Living is much different to surviving, and when he feels ready and strong – and perhaps even content with life – Regulus returns to the magical world, wand in his holster, muggle clothing on his back.

Unwilling to give up his advantage of anonymity, Regulus continues the façade that he's dead, that he died months ago. He becomes another wizard with a hood over their head, eyes glinting from an unknown face. He becomes more, though. He creates an information network and listens to rumours and whispered fears. He listens to the things people fear saying aloud, and creates a map of the Dark Lord's movements and his past.

One Horcrux down, but there are more, Regulus is sure. A person searching for immortality and a person like the Dark Lord would not create only one. Believed to be dead, it is somewhat easy for Regulus to find an invisibility cloak, to go to Death Eater meetings, hidden and unseen. No one ever expects him to be there, because he's meant to be dead. Another casualty in an ongoing war; no one mourns his death but that is the way Regulus' life seems to go.

Hunting Horcruxes isn't easy, but in war with too many shadowed figures and curses streaking the sky, Regulus is easily lost amongst many others and no one pays attention to him. He hunts down assumed treasures of the Hogwarts' Founding Four based on rumours. He destroys three Horcruxes before his leads all fail him, and rumours arise that the Dark Lord is after the Potters.

Perhaps, Regulus thinks sometime in early 1981, his disappearance can end now. He may not be accepted by many, may be hunted down by others, but Regulus has spent the past few years dealing with dangers much greater than wizards can create – barring the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Then again, Regulus has always wondered what his brother would think of his betrayal. Perhaps it is time for him to find out.

Sometimes the world breaks down around you, breaks down in a way that enables you to break it down so you can understand parts of it. Sometimes your world fractures around you, and you tie it together with string and hope for the best. Sometimes a temporary fix lasts long enough so that you can glue sections back together, and form a world that's slightly different but still very similar. Sometimes you disappear and no one notices you missing, but sometimes that's what you want.

We are all made of bones and muscle and blood and many other things. We are all made of thoughts and emotions and personalities. We are unexplainable yet occasionally predictable. We are all we pretend and all we say we are at times. We are exactly who we are, no matter who that may be.

Sometimes we live and sometimes we die; sometimes we make that choice and other times we don't. Nevertheless, the world is ours regardless of whether or not we claim it, whether or not we are noticed, whether or not we disappear. We all exist, and in that manner, we all have an impact on our own individual puzzle pieces.


End file.
